


The Bifrost is Now a Loading Screen

by Book_Wyrm



Series: Tumblr Prompts [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, somewhat meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 03:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_Wyrm/pseuds/Book_Wyrm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Volstagg is mistaken for Ysgramor. There’s no time for lollygaggin’ on a rescue mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bifrost is Now a Loading Screen

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: "Thor / Skyrim crossover where Volstagg is mistaken for Ysgramor. I don't care how you do it, it just needs to happen! :) Lots of interactions with the Warriors Three would be nice - also some Thor and Loki? - but it's up to you."
> 
> Basically I used this as an excuse to poke good-hearted fun of Skyrim.
> 
> I'd say I'm sorry but I'm not.

**:::**

Once, briefly, they lost Volstagg.

Afterwards they all remembered the event differently. Fandral insisted that he’d only been missing a day when they noticed his absence at the dinner table. Sif maintained that it had been more like a week and had finally happened in the sparring court, when, after one too many defeats, Fandral picked himself up from the dirt and looked around for a different opponent only to find them one team member short.

Whether it was a week or a day made little difference. At the time they weren’t quite as inseparable as they would eventually grow to be. It was difficult to remember a time when they hadn’t been Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, but everyone agreed that the time they lost Volstagg must have been the early days.

To their credit, they did _try_ to find him once they realized he was gone. Their search started in the logical place: the kitchens. While most cooks had wisely put up a sort of Volstagg ban ages ago, there were a few who hadn’t they heart to turn him out, and he would spend many of his happier hours comfortably situated there, eating meals fresh out of the oven

 He was not in any of the usual places, so they checked the unusual ones, and even the places that refused to let him in just to be safe. Nothing. From there it became apparent that none of them really knew Volstagg all that well. They knew what everyone knew within two minutes of knowing him, that his passions were fighting and food – not necessarily in that order – and little else.

“Does he have a family?” Hogun asked.

For anyone else the answer might have been an obvious yes, but Volstagg had never actually _mentioned_ a family. Sif propped her chin up in her hand and tried to think if she’d ever found out where he actually lived and, again, drew a blank. No one had ever had occasion to find out. By traditional standards, this would seem to bode ill for their friendship.

They resumed their search without much sense of organization, drifting from room to room until they’d searched an entire building and then moving on to the next. At some point they met up with Thor, which was a good thing because it meant that they could at least be certain Volstagg would hear them calling his name if he was anywhere within ten leagues of them.

Still, nothing.

By nightfall they were starting to worry and Thor was obviously growing impatient with the lack of anything more entertaining than a manhunt. Sif sensed that it was only a matter of time until one of the nearby tables was flipped over, and tried to think of a way of avoiding such disaster. If they’d been in the forest, they might have used a hunting hawk or a hound, but the citizens of Asgard might not take kindly to unleashing such beasts into their midst. The only solution Sif could think of was—

“We could ask Heimdall.”

The moment she said it, she wished she could take it back. Of course she wasn’t frightened of Heimdall. She wasn’t frightened of _anything_. She was the Lady Sif. She charged into battle as bravely as any man – often times _more_ bravely. Heimdall had never done anything particularly alarming. All he really did was stand there like a golden mountain, staring off into who-knew-what. Sif wasn’t afraid of him. Not at all.

Except that she _was_ , just a bit.

She thought that perhaps everyone else would share the same feeling and dismiss her suggestion immediately, but Thor’s expression brightened.

“A brilliant idea, Sif!” he said, and in no time at all they were sprinting across the rainbow bridge. Sif could feel Hogun and Fandral’s glares upon her back, and did her best to ignore them.

They reached Heimdall, only to find him looking, if anything, more imposing than usual. The strange mixture of sunlight and starlight on the Bifrost made his armor shine like golden fire.

Sif hung back, and Fandral and Hogun stayed with her. Thor, on the other hand, simply charged ahead as directly and without pretense as always.

“Heimdall! We can’t find Volstagg. Where is he?”

Heimdall turned his unblinking eyes on Thor and did not immediately answer. He was probably unused to be addressed in such an informal manner.

“Yggdrasil is a tree,” he said at last. “Like any other tree, it grows  new branches. Oftentimes a small branch will grow feeble and break off before reaching maturity. Only nine have survived thus far.” He paused. “Your friend is in a realm that will soon break away. If he does not return to Asgard before that time, he will be lost with it.”

Thor took a step forward. “Where is he?”

“In the mortal realm of Nirn, in the continent of Tamriel, in the Province of Skyrim, in the Hold of Whiterun, in the City of Whiterun, in the Hall of Jorrvaskr.”

“Then that’s where we’re going,” Thor said without so much as pausing to ask permission. He turned back to his friends. “Stay here. I’m going to get help.”

“The All-father?” Fandral said, sounding hopeful.

“No. My brother.”

And with that he was gone, before anyone could voice a protest.

Fandral looked nervous at this announcement. “Maybe we can go without them,” he said quietly, as if simply lowering his voice would somehow keep Heimdall from hearing.

“We would face Thor’s anger when we returned,” Hogun said.

“Fair enough. I can’t see what good Loki will be to us, though. He’s…”

“Strange,” Hogun supplied. Fandral nodded in agreement.

Sif was more forgiving at that time – or perhaps more easily fooled. “He’s not _strange_ ,” she said.

“Oh, yes he is.”

“Perhaps he’s… a little unnerving.”

“No – Hogun is ‘a little unnerving.’ Loki? _Strange_.”

Hogun raised an eyebrow, seeming to consider whether or not to take offense. Apparently the answer was no, because in the end he said nothing.

When Thor returned with Loki in tow, the younger prince was, unsurprisingly, sulking.

“Maybe Volstagg doesn’t _want_ to be rescued,” he was saying, as if he would have any idea. “He’s capable of taking care of himself, isn’t he? Won’t it be humiliating for him if we swoop in and save the day? If _I’m_ ever in such a predicament, I’d like you all to promise not to rescue me.”

“Don’t worry,” Fandral said under his breath. “We won’t.”

They stepped onto the Bifrost.

**:::**

When the light and smoke had cleared, they found themselves in an utterly unremarkable realm. The ground beneath their feet was solid, composed of dirt and a littering of dry yellow grass. This plain stretched on and on, broken only by the occasional stray tree or slight incline. In the distance were forests and snowy mountains. The sky overhead was a flat blameless blue. From what Sif remembered, it looked quite similar to Midgard.

There was no immediate danger in the vicinity, but Sif suddenly worried that none of them would make it back from this quest before the realm separated from Yggdrasil. They hadn’t asked Heimdall what sort of timeframe they had, after all.

“We should hurry,” Sif said. Thor nodded. His approval, much as Sif was loath to admit it, always made her feel somehow validated. Trying to dismiss the feeling, she squared her shoulders and cast her gaze around the plains, looking for some sort of landmark. “We’re going to… what was it, Whiterun?”

The problem was that no one had any idea which direction Whiterun might be. As reluctant to admit to a failing as ever, it was Fandral who eventually took the lead and set off in a random direction.

The space of an hour was sufficient for Sif to reevaluate her initial assessment that the realm was safe. It seemed that they couldn’t turn a corner without running into something intent on attacking them. They encountered wolves, bandits, bears, and something that Sif somehow knew was called a troll but actually looked more like a particularly hairy giant. None of it was a challenge, but rather an annoyance, especially when Hogun further slowed them down by stopping to raid the corpses of their attackers.

“What could you _possibly_ want with all of that?” Fandral asked after Hogun had collected a third full set of armor.

Hogun was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke it was with the steadiness of either great determination or great obsession. “I don’t know. I just know that I need it.”

When they found themselves in a town called Riverwood, Sif suggested that they ask for directions. Judging by the reaction she got, one might have thought she’d suggested they murder innocents. Thor was positively aghast, saying that they were mighty warriors and mighty warriors did not _ask for directions_ , and Fandral began insisting that even in Volstagg’s absence they were still the Warriors Three and as such had a certain degree of dignity to uphold. This, for some reason, sent Loki into a fit of laughter.

Fandral glared. “What’s so funny?” he demanded.

“I never thought I’d hear ‘the Warriors Three’ and ‘dignity’ in the same sentence,” Loki said.

From the looks that Fandral and Hogun gave him, Sif thought that perhaps there might be bloodshed on this journey.  As amusing – and satisfying – as that might have been to witness, they did not have time to waste on such vain disputes, and Sif created a distraction by attempting to ask one of the townsfolk for directions to Whiterun.

The woman pointed frantically into the sky. “A dragon! I saw a dragon!”

Sif looked over her shoulder and saw nothing. The skies were as empty as ever. “A _dragon_?” she said, momentarily taken aback.

“You’ll see!” the woman said. “It was a dragon! It’ll kill us all and then you’ll be sorry!”

It was difficult to know how to process this information. Sif turned back to her friends to find that Hogun had drifted away towards the blacksmith’s forge and Fandral was giving her a worried look.

“If there are dragons here…” he began.

“We must find Volstagg quickly,” Sif said. “Until then, we’ll be on our guard.”

“But can you _imagine_ the glory of slaying a dragon?”

Sif could; she was trying not to think about it. The temptation may have been too great to resist. She glanced off down the road leading away from Riverwood and caught sight of what looked like a sign. With a gesture for her companions to follow, she set off towards it.

Luckily, what the sign lacked in aesthetics it made up for in efficiency. It clearly indicated the road they should follow to reach Whiterun, through a pleasant enough forest path. If the first leg of their journey was anything to judge by, there would be countless annoying dangers to be had should they follow it. But no sooner had they started off than Hogun’s voice from behind them called, “Wait.”

They turned and found him struggling after them at an unbearably slow pace, overburdened by the weight of all that he was trying to carry.

“Can you not leave some of that behind?” Thor asked impatiently.

“No. I need this.”

“For what?”

“I _need_ it,” Hogun repeated.

“What do you need all the cabbage for?” Sif asked.

For once, Hogun hesitated. He seemed to think it over. “I suppose I can get rid of the cabbage. But nothing more.”

Thankfully leaving a few cabbage heads on the roadside somehow lightened his burden enough to make movement an option again, and soon they were off and running towards Whiterun and Volstagg.

**:::**

They encountered a number of wolves along the way, but other than that the journey was peaceful. Now that they were on the right road, they found the city of Whiterun with relative ease, and Loki was able to convince the guards to let them inside. Perhaps there had been a good reason for bringing him along after all.

Sif could not remember the exact moment that they passed through the city gates – it was as if she had closed her eyes for a moment during the transition. But when she opened them and looked around the city, she found that she suddenly knew that any attacks done while both sneaking and undetected would do extra damage. What exactly that meant was mystery, and perhaps it was around that time that she began to suspect that all was not right with the realm they found themselves in.

They passed a shoddily-clad guard, who, brushing by Loki, commented, “Go cast your fancy magic someplace else.”

It turned out to be a spectacularly bad choice of words. In an instant, Thor was rounding on him, roaring with inarticulate with rage, and the resulting thunderclap was loud enough to make even Hogun jump slightly.

“How _dare_ you address a son of Odin in such a manner!”

The guard did not spare them another glance. “No lollygaggin’,” he said, and kept his course.

Overhead, the skies did not clear – but stilled. Thor blinked, confused, and Loki put a conciliatory hand on his shoulder.

“It would seem that you’ve truly struck fear into his heart, brother,” he said.

Thor growled under his breath and pulled away. “The people of this realm are either very brave or very foolish,” he muttered, and stalked off.

Personally, Sif was leaning towards ‘foolish,’ but she chose not to say so.

They made their way into the center of the city, passing houses with pale wooden walls, few windows, and hay-thatched roofs. The smell of dry grass and burnt meat emanated from the central market square, while the strange metallic scent of the blacksmith’s forge was an ever-present backdrop. It reminded Sif of the small cities on the outskirts of Asgard, similar in all aspects except that it lacked the circling of golden clouds.

They were once again faced with the fact that they had no idea of where they were doing. Logic said that this ‘Jorrvaskr’ place was somewhere within the city walls, but there were no landmarks anywhere to point them towards their destination. Volstagg was nowhere in plain sight, and short of checking every house and every back alley, they were at a loss for how to find him.

“We could ask for directions,” Sif said again. It earned her a series of dark looks, but Hogun nodded.

“She is right. We must hurry,” he said, and then made no move to ask anyone. Apparently by ‘we’ he meant ‘one of you.’

Sif was not shy by any means, but here, out of her element, she was suddenly unsure of how to approach these people with even such a simple question. From the looks of things, the rest of the group was similarly disconcerted by the matter.

The silence between them drug on. A few passing townsfolk made comments about the weather, their preference for fresh food, and in one case even dragons – but they didn’t seem to addressing anyone but the air, and in any event none of it seemed like a good conversation opener. A heavy feeling of awkwardness was starting to set in.

Presently, it seemed that Loki had had enough – he kept glancing at the shadows as though he were eager to hurry this along and get out of the sunlight. Clearing his throat, he addressed the first woman who passed by, “Excuse me, could you tell us—”

“What’s the matter? Can’t stand the sight of a strong Nord woman?” she asked, not so much as slowing her pace or glancing at him.

It was around that time that there came a unanimous realization that perhaps they were out of their depth among these people. The citizens of Skyrim were not intimidated by Thor or won over by Loki’s most polite tone. Aside from the occasional non sequitur, it seemed that they were completely oblivious to the strangers in their midst trying desperately to get their attention.

Sif chewed the inside of her cheek, frustrated. At Asgard she had something of a reputation. In other realms, the inhabitants were usually at least polite enough to acknowledge her. She had no idea of how to deal with people who were affected by neither, and the instinctual impulse to start a fight and prove her mettle was nagging at the back of her mind.

“We’ll never find Volstagg at this rate,” she said.

Fandral turned to her with a smile. When Fandral smiled, it usually meant that something unpleasant was about to happen. “Do you trust me, Lady Sif?” he asked.

“No.”

He seemed not to hear her. “I have a plan. Go along with it.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, raising it high into the air, and called, “People of Whiterun! A kiss to the first citizen who can tell us the way to Jorrvaskr!”

Sif wrenched away. “What are you doing?”

“Well, you want to find Volstagg, don’t you?” He gestured around. “I’m finding Volstagg. Surely you can sacrifice—”

“Oh, I’ll show _you_ sacrifice,” Sif snarled, her hand going to the hilt of her sword.

Fortunately for Fandral, it was at that moment that they were approached by one of the townsfolk, a beggar judging by the look of his clothes and a drunkard judging by the smell. “Yeah, I can tell you how to get to Jorrvaskr,” he said, slurring. “It’s in the Wind District, up them stairs. Take a right. You’ll pass by a priest shouting about Talos and you’ll see a big building with a roof that looks like a ship. If you get to a bridge, you’ve gone too far.”

“Excellent!” Fandral said. “Now, Sif, if you would give the good man his payment…”

The beggar scoffed. “Not _her_ ,” he said, and flashed Fandral a smile that was only missing a few teeth.

Fandral paled. Sif beamed.

**:::**

It came as a surprise to no one that when they found Volstagg, he was eating.

The walls in Jorrvaskr were covered in animal skins and various displays of weaponry – everything from axes to daggers. In the center of the room lay a low-burning fire pit, and it was surrounded on all sides by tables laden with all sorts of food. It was here that Volstagg had made himself at home.

“My friends!” he said when he caught sight of them. “It is good to see you! Come, join me in this magnificent feast!”

If any of them had been in the mood for feasting to begin with, the mood would have gone by the time they passed the priest of Talos, who had screamed something about maggots writhing in filth. Volstagg took in their expressions and the smile slid from his face.

“What is it?” he asked, in the tone of one who knew very well what it was.

Sif could actually feel Fandral giving off heat in his rage. He spoke through gritted teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“I… er…” Volstagg looked around but received no help from any quarter. “You see, it’s something of a long story— I say, what’s gotten you so wound up?”

Sif and Hogun moved to intercept the attack just in time, each grabbing hold of one of Fandral’s arms while he began detailing the various unspeakable – and physically impossible – crimes he was tempted to commit.

For once it was Thor who took the diplomatic approach. He went around the table to lay a hand on Volstagg’s arm. “There is no time to linger here,” he said. “We must return to Asgard at once.”

“I’m sorry,” Volstagg said, with a worried look at Fandral, “I can’t.”

“Of course you can!”

“No, no, you see—” He gestured around at the empty hall. “There’s something of a, well, I suppose you could say a case of mistaken identity. These mortals have mistaken me for a reincarnation of their hero-god, Ysgramor. They believe I have returned to save them from a great evil.”

There was a blank silence from around the room, broken only by the sound of a log snapping under the heat in the fire.

“I don’t even know where to begin,” Hogun said.

Sif did. “Mistaken _how_?” she asked. She refused to believe that he was completely blameless in the matter. And that ‘great evil’ thing could take second place for a moment. Something like that happened every other week.

“I look like him!” Volstagg said. He pointed with a turkey leg to a tapestry that adorned the wall. Sure enough, enough depicted a warrior of similar stature, with a long red beard and a double-bladed axe clasped between his hands. The resemblance stopped there. Sif was suspicious of the implication that no one else in this realm bore a similar appearance, and it had no effect on her conviction that Volstagg had actively contributed to the misconception. When it became apparent that silence was her answer, Volstagg looked offended. “What?” he said, now pointing between Thor and Loki. “ _They’ve_ been mistaken for gods. Is it so inconceivable that someone might believe the same of _me_?”

“ _We_ actually have godlike qualities,” Loki said quietly. Sif shot him a look, dearly wishing he would shut up, but to no avail. “What have they named you the god _of_? Feasting?”

Volstagg shoved his chair back from the table and got to his feet. He was mild-tempered by nature, more inclined to laugh off a slight than to take offence, but neither could he completely back away from a challenge as blatant as this.

“What are you implying?” he asked. “That I am not good at anything?”

“Oh, no, not at all. You’re _very_ good at doing things that are unnecessary and inadvisable.”

“Enough!” Thor interrupted. He was clearly on the verge of destroying something in his frustration. To Loki he said, “Hold your tongue, brother,” and to Volstagg, a bit more softly, “Heimdall says that if we do not return to Asgard soon, this realm may be separated from Yggdrasil and we will be trapped here without hope of return. We must make haste to the Bifrost site.”

Again, Volstagg hesitated. He looked around the room with his copper eyes, and Sif could read his answer there before he gave it.

“You go. I will stay here.”

Even Fandral froze.

“Forever?” Hogun said.

Volstagg nodded. “Yes. I like it here! It’s a good place. The people here…” He cast a pointed look at Loki, “ _respect_ me.”

“But you cannot stay among mortals,” Sif said, aghast at the idea. “Their lives are so _small_. What will you do when all of your friends die?”

Fandral added, “Yes, and what about the Warriors Three? We cannot be the Warriors _Two_ , it doesn’t sound right.”

“Yes, and I don’t like him,” Hogun said. “We need you.”

“I am sorry, my friends,” said Volstagg, looking between them, “but I have made my decision.”

At once, they began shouting at him; arguments and implorations alike. Volstagg only shrugged helplessly and shook his head, even when Thor threatened to forcibly drag him back to Asgard if he did not relent. Only Loki was silent, and after a moment he held up a hand and made a quiet shushing noise.

By this point Sif had tolerated as much of his scorn as she could for one day, and she rounded on him, half-driven by her suppressed fury at Volstagg’s decision, and snarled, “ _What?_ ”

If he hadn’t been Thor’s brother – and a prince besides – Sif could have killed him for the look he gave her at that moment.

“I simply wondered,” he said, “if anyone else can hear that.”

Slowly the shouting died down and—yes, there was something there, a noise. It seemed to be coming from outside and sounded like… some sort of chanting. It was music, with a background of expertly played instruments and a rather loud choir.

It soon became apparent that they were not the only ones who heard it. From all through the building there was the sound of doors opening and footsteps rushing, and moments later the hall was filled with fur and metal-clad warriors. They clamored to retrieve weapons from the walls before hurrying outside. None paid any heed to the strangers in their midst.

“Ysgramor!” called a woman, who, in Sif’s opinion, wore too little clothing – let alone armor – to be of much use in battle. She caught Volstagg’s attention and said, “The time has come. He is here,” before darting out the door with the rest of the warriors.

“ _Who_ is here?” Sif asked, lost.

Volstagg slowly got to his feet, casting one last lingering glance over his unfinished meal. “The one they call Dragonborn,” he said.

**:::**

Outside, the warriors of Jorrvaskr gathered and formed a well-practiced battle formation. The music was louder now, though Sif could see no bards or minstrels to provide it.

“What is this ‘Dragonborn’?” Fandral asked.

“As I understand it, he was supposed to be their savor,” Volstagg said. “Something or another about dragons returning from the dead – I didn’t really follow the story. But rather than fulfill his destiny, he’s spent the past months completing only minor quests while people suffer and cities burn. He is supposedly a rampant thief, an assassin, and an undefeatable warrior with the power to kill using only his voice. His presence has brought nothing but hardship upon the people of Skyrim, and behind the shield of a prophecy, he has been allowed to commit his crimes unhindered.”

The woman from earlier cut in, “Yes, but no longer! We will see his ruin on this day!”

“Of course we shall, Aela.”

She looked at Volstagg, her strange, pale eyes shining in admiration. “Ysgramor could only have returned to us for this purpose. We have not fought back until now, fearing his retribution. But now we have a cause, and a champion.” She hesitated for a moment, then laid a hand on his arm. “ _You_ are our true savior.”

Sif nearly choked on her laughter.

The music suddenly reached a crescendo and the legend itself stepped into view.

There was nothing outwardly remarkable about the man. Like the other warriors, he wore fur-trimmed armor. A horned iron helmet hid all but the lower half of his face. He seemed oblivious to the group of warriors waiting for him, instead hurrying over to a tree in the middle of the square and picking a flower.

And he was immediately set upon by a guard. “By order of the Jarl, stop right there!”

The Dragonborn turned, waving his hands. “Nah, man, it’s cool,” he said. His voice seemed oddly thin and young for a warrior of such stature. “I’m the Thane.”

The guard stopped in his tracks. “Oh, forgive me, Thane. I didn't realize it was you. We'll look the other way this time, but even the Jarl’s influence has its limits. Be more careful.” And he went about his business without another word.

“Strange,” Volstagg commented, “but nothing too dangerous. Are you sure—”

“Shh.” Aela raised a hand, pointing at the Dragonborn, who was now approaching the screaming priest in the courtyard. “Watch.”

“So rise up!” the priest was saying. “Rise up, children of the Empire! Rise up, Stormcloaks! Embrace the word of mighty Talos, he who is both man—”

_“FOS RO DAH!”_

The priest flew through the air and struck the rocky wall behind him. He fell to the earth as limp as a ragdoll and did not move again. There was nothing in the Dragonborn’s posture to indicate anything akin to remorse or pride in his actions. It was not the sort of stoicism Sif was used to seeing seasoned warriors display after a bloody victory; no, this was truly frightening, because he held himself just the same as he had before the attack. He simply did not react at all.

As if in a dream, they watched the same scene play out a second time. The guard approached, the Dragonborn turned and identified himself, and the guard walked off again without as much as another glance at the lifeless body in the middle of the city.

Volstagg slowly turned to his friends, his eyes wide, face drained of its usual ruddy color. “I don’t like this realm anymore. We have to get out of this realm.”

For the first – and _only_ , until many, many years later – time, the Warriors Three ran from a fight.

At least they ran together.

**:::**

Later, they sat on the edge of the Bifrost and watched as one sequence of stars flared brighter than others.

“How long did it take you to notice I was gone?” Volstagg asked.

Sif replied that she had noticed some time ago and chosen not to comment. Fandral said that she was lying because Volstagg had only vanished recently. They argued for some time before turning to him to settle the matter.

“I’m taking no sides,” he said. Sometimes things were much improved by having someone who took no sides.

It was difficult to look out at the dark space and stars for long without incurring a sense of nausea. Sif turned away, glancing back over her shoulder to see Hogun rummaging through a tremendous pile of loot.

Volstagg followed her gaze. “Where did he get all of that?” he asked quietly.

“You'll be happier if you do not know.”

“Come on, I’m curious.”

“He strip-searched a _lot_ of dead bodies.”

Presently, Hogun held up a bar of some black metal. A sort of glint came into his eyes. “Is anyone’s smithing leveled high enough to make some ebony armor for me?” he asked.

They traded wordless looks and went back to watching the bright-burning constellation below. Its light was dying away into the abyss.

It was a tacit consensus that things were better that way.

**Author's Note:**

> Just realized that I managed to write Skyrim humor without even one "arrow to the knee" joke.


End file.
